


the man who had everything

by jeanjosten



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, John keeps Arthur's things to keep him alive, M/M, Moving On, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 13:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/pseuds/jeanjosten
Summary: John keeps Arthur's things to keep him alive in every little thing. And though he has a family, there is one thing the man who has everything doesn't have— anymore.





	the man who had everything

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to [this song](https://youtu.be/Pp147XFLi4Y) and it gave me john/arthur vibes so now i'm hurt. tumblrs are [wndg](http://wndg.tumblr.com) and [exybitch](http://exybitch.tumblr.com). have some sad prose sorta

On a silent winter night, John: dances with Abigail, head on her shoulder, eyes lost in the dark. He searches for some kind of familiarity in the home he built with his own hands, searches for the remnants of something that is long gone.

He is gone.

Their hands clasped around each other’s are heavy and he feels the weight of it all against his palm: Mary’s ring, loose around Abigail’s finger, symbolizes more than it should. Souvenirs sharp as flames, sharp as blades. 

He is gone.

Drunkenness doesn’t have the same taste anymore. What once was isn’t, and he drowns, he drowns in the bitter taste of moonshine, not knowing on which river to come afloat. He survives. Day after day. The nights are long, lonely, even beside Abigail’s warm body; and he doesn’t know why the moon still shines. Ha.

He is gone.

Blackbirds do not sing anymore. Everything is silent, to the little Jack from the crackling fire, and nobody speaks, nobody breathes, specially not him. He doesn’t know how to talk that talk anymore, the childish ‘you not me’ he used to play along. The I’ll kill you’s, the you bastard’s. There is no one to talk to anymore. Everyone is gone now.

He is gone.

His hat is heavy like another world, something terrible and brave, something he cannot bring himself to forget. He speaks into souvenirs, brings memories back to life from the tip of his hat, picks it up when it falls. He thinks it’s never quite gone even when it is. He holds onto life, to love, to anything that might counter death; and he tries, he tries, he tries, but— 

He is gone. He is gone. He is gone.

Arthur is gone.

And it’s killing him—oh, it’s killing him.

  
  



End file.
